The Dothan Chronicles: The Complete Trilogy

by Charissa Dufour

  Of course, it would be better if he caught them before they crossed the Central Wastelands.

  Imagine how the king will reward you if you succeed, thought Pelor to himself. Maybe if he were to succeed, Wolfric would honor him with the rank of knight and he would go back to living in comfort.

  Pelor remounted and urged his horse into a swift trot. He would catch them in the end!

  Cal lowered the princess to the ground of the tall, narrow cave. It was barely large enough for them and the animals, but it was the best he could find. He had sensed, more than saw, their follower, but he was sure it was the bounty hunter from Mirartock. They would have to lay low for a day or two and let him lose their trail.

  Besides, Bethany was not fit to travel.

  He pulled their lone blanket out of the saddlebag and tucked it around her, using what few scraps of old cloth they had as a pillow. Her body felt chilled to the touch and yet beads of sweat glistened across her pasty face. Cal felt his brows pull together as he stared at her.

  The knight pulled her injured arm out from under the blanket and checked the two swaths of burned flesh. They looked as they should, and he hoped her illness was due more to the pain and shock than to any infection.

  She’s strong, he told himself as he tucked her arm back under the blanket.

  Éimhin stomped his hoof, reminding Cal the animals had not been tended to.

  Cal sighed as he climbed to his feet and got back to work. When the animals were tended to and munching on what feed he could find in their rocky surroundings, Cal sat back down in the cramp space remaining.

  The cave had a long, winding path wedged between steep cliffs leading up to it. The rocky ground left no trail to follow. The bounty hunter could pass by the very mouth of the cave and not be aware they were tucked away, safe and sound. The donkey just had to be quiet, and Cal just had to be patient.

  But patience wasn’t his greatest strength.

  Cal glanced down at the princess. She no longer looked as though she were dead. A trace of color was returning to her lips and she began to toss and turn. A fear of her bashing her injured arm on the unforgiving stone walls, quickly followed by the worse fear of her screaming herself awake from a nightmare crossed his mind just as she began to whimper in her sleep.

  The knight climbed across her and wedged himself beside her head. He began to gently shake her, being certain that her arm was safely tucked under the blanket. It took a surprising amount of shaking before her eyes flickered open.

  “You were having another bad dream,” he said, trying to soothe away the haunted look in her stormy-gray eyes.

  Bethany nodded. Slowly, she pushed herself up into a sitting position and leaned her back against the wall of the narrow cave.

  “Like the inn I found?” he asked, gesturing toward their cramped quarters.

  The corner of her mouth quirked up into the faintest hint of a smile.

  “Your arm hurting much? I’m so sorry I did that to you.”

  With her good hand, she patted him on the leg. “You had to, Erin. Don’t apologize.”

  “Still…” He trailed off, unsure what else to say.

  “It hurts. But it’s manageable. Stop fretting.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She chuckled slightly, and Cal felt the tension in his chest ease.

  “I’m afraid we don’t have anything to eat. I wish I could have taken some meat from those wolves, but we were too exposed there to wait around for the body to drain.”

  “Wolf meat?” she asked, sounding like the princess he knew and loathed.

  “Better than a growling stomach.”

  As if on cue, her stomach growled and Cal gave her a knowing smirk.

  “Good point,” she amended, sounding more like the Bethany he liked—more like Anne. “Can you go hunting now?”

  “There’s not much out there to hunt. Not this close to the wastelands. But I could set a few traps. I just wanted to be sure you were okay before I left.”

  “I’m okay,” she said automatically.

  Cal stared at her until she began to squirm. “All right.”

  The knight made his way out of the cave, making sure no one was around, and scrambled up the steep slope until he was on top of their hide-out. He used what few supplies he had to set up three meager traps before returning to their cave. He found Bethany right where he had left her, her eyes closed and sweat beading across her forehead.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked as he slid down into a sitting position.

  She nodded feebly. “You ever had two wounds cauterized shut, back to back?”

  Cal smiled. “I admit, it’s been a while.”

  “What happened?”

  The knight hesitated. He didn’t want to tell her about his past, but he also knew the benefit of a distraction.

  “I was a squire to one of Woflric’s knights—he’s dead now, you never knew him—and we were in the siege of Rowen. You know the city?”

  “Of course. It once belonged to my family,” she said in a huff.

  Cal ground his teeth together. Did she have to act like every act of war was personal?

  “Right. Well, I was bringing the knight a fresh horse, after his last had been killed, and an arrow got me in the shoulder. It had to be cauterized. It was a long time ago,” he added, wrapping the story up quickly.

  They were silent for an uncomfortable length of time before Bethany spoke.

  “I’m sorry. I know the war isn’t your fault. I shouldn’t take it out on you.”

  Cal stared at her for a second, shock paralyzing his tongue. “Apology accepted, Princess,” he finally said.

  “Stop calling me that,” she snapped, punching him in the shoulder with her good arm. He laughed hard enough to produce a small chuckle from her lips.

  They went to sleep, leaning against each other for lack of a space to lie down.

  Lyolf rode alongside the small family. He was trying to keep his eyes on the road ahead, but they kept drifting to the Lurran girl, Athelyna. To make matters worse, she seemed to be aware of his continuing gaze, but he still couldn’t make himself stop.

  “Prince Lyolf, if you are not careful, you will make me blush,” she said after a particularly long gaze on his part.

  Lyolf blinked furiously as he fixed his eyes on the general landscape.

  “I am no prince,” he said after a long pause.

  “You cannot change your position, no more than a bison can shed its horn.”

  “I never was a prince.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked, glancing up at him on his horse.

  Lyolf suddenly felt uncomfortable riding while she walked. He quickly dismounted and began to walk beside her.

  “Have you ever seen Wolfric, or any of my siblings?”

  “No.”

  “Had you seen them you would realize I am not my father’s son. I am not an offspring of Wolfric.”

  Athelyna stared at him wide-eyed. “You mean… your mother…”

  “Had an affair? Yes. It was the forbidden topic in my family for a long time. I finally got fed up with it and confronted both my mother and Wolfric with the truth. They weren’t too appreciative.”

  “I would imagine not.”

  “I will say this for Wolfric, he was generous. He wrote me an introduction into the army, as I requested, and gave me an estate in Nava.”

  The runaway slave didn’t respond. He couldn’t blame her; no doubt it would be hard to view the king of a nation that condoned slavery as anything other than a tyrant.

  “Don’t get me wrong,” hedged Lyolf in an effort to stay on her good side. “The guy’s still a bastard. He just surprised me is all.”

  “That would surprise me as well.”

  They walked on in silence for a while before he thought of a different topic for conversation.

  “Tell me about your people. I only know what my tutors taught me, and that’s not much.”

  “What would you like to kn
ow?” she asked primly, her accent softening his spine.

  Lyolf glanced down at her, enchanted by the smooth grace of her walk and the tilt of her head as she spoke. He knew ladies of court with worse manners than her, a Lurran who supposedly lived in the forest and ate animal droppings.

  “Anything. What are your cities like?”

  “I doubt you would call our dwellings ‘cities.’ We live in family groups of about fifty people.”

  “Oh.”

  They lapsed back into silence.

  “What do you do for fun?” Lyolf prompted.

  “Fun?”

  “Yeah. Do you dance or sing or play games?”

  “We sing on special occasions.”

  “Like when?”

  “We sing for our dead. We sing for a new birth.”

  “Any other times?”

  “At a union.”

  “Would you sing something for me?” he asked, feeling very bold.

  “This is not a union.”

  “Do you not ever sing, just ‘cause you want to?”

  “No.”

  “Oh.”

  Silence threatened to consume them again, when she finally spoke of her own free will.

  “When I was home, I liked to sing and play the drums. But my mother was always angry with me for singing when it was not the time.”

  “I won’t tell her, if you don’t,” he said with a smirk.

  After a second’s hesitation, Athelyna smiled up at him. She opened her mouth and began a song in her own language. It was beautiful and haunting, and Lyolf found himself wanting to silence her with a kiss. No woman had ever held such instant attraction for him. It was not that he wanted to bed her, though he did. One night was simply not enough to unravel the mystery of this woman, and the idea of another man knowing her secrets nearly drove him to distraction.

  A few minutes later, Athelyna finished her song.

  “That was beautiful. What does it mean?”

  She glanced up at him from under her pale eyelashes and smiled. “It is our union song. A woman sings it to her husband before they…” she trailed off, a delicate blush darkening her tanned skin.

  Lyolf felt himself blushing too and, for the first time in his life, couldn’t think of a thing to say.

  “I see I’m going to have to keep an eye on you two,” said Brid from behind them.

  Lyolf glanced over his shoulder and gave her his best “I’m innocent” smile. From the look on Brid’s face, she didn’t believe it for a second.

  Chapter Twenty

  Bethany stared down at the healing flesh of her forearm. It wasn’t pretty. In fact, it was downright hideous. Bethany cringed every time she was forced to look at it. Unlike her back, which had been brutally beaten on numerous separate occasions, the scaring on her forearms was directly visible to her. It was much easier to pretend her back wasn’t marred, but she couldn’t force herself to believe anything so sweet about her arm. The truth of it was in front of her every time she looked down.

  It’s worse because I can’t have the sleeve down over it while it heals, she told herself repeatedly. It would be better when her clothing covered the scar.

  It must be worse for Erin, she realized as she flexed her fingers, making the skin of her forearm ripple over the contracting muscles.

  He never had the promise of a shirt to cover his scars. They were always visible to the world, and yet he had managed to keep them from changing him. Or had he?

  Bethany began to wonder what the scarred knight had been like as a young lad, before the grimy fingers of war and Wolfric had affected him. He had probably been a mischief maker. Every once in a while, Bethany saw a gleam in his eye as though he were creating new schemes, perfect for getting himself into trouble. But those looks were fleeting, and they usually were chased away by a glower or look of concern. He carried too much on his shoulders, however broad they might be.

  To Bethany’s astonishment, she found herself wanting to lessen his burden.

  Bethany glanced back down at her arm. She tried to keep it out of Erin’s view as much as possible. She knew he considered her injury his fault, or, if not the original injury, the need to cauterize it. It was ridiculous for him to feel guilty. He knew enough about healing to know when such drastic measures were called for. Why he blamed himself she couldn’t fathom, but she hoped by keeping the scar out of his line of sight, he might forget about it.

  She was just forcing the sleeve of her tunic over the painful burn, determined to cover it for both their sakes, when the knight slipped back into their tiny cave. After a number of days confined in the cave, everyone was ready to be on their way again.

  Erin had it best, perhaps, because he spent most of the daylight hours outside, scavenging for edible plants for the animals and checking his traps. So far, he had only caught two small squirrels, which, between the two of them, was barely enough to keep body and soul together.

  Bethany didn’t ask if he had found anything in the traps. It was plain enough from his empty hands. He shook his head anyway, a look of sad hunger pulling his lips down.

  “I know we’re hungry, but we need to head out.”

  “Hunger’s nothing new to me,” she said, trying to cheer him up. Strangely enough, it seemed to do the opposite.

  They scrambled out of the cave, guiding the animals backwards. It had been a long stay in such cramped quarters, and Bethany was glad to breathe the free air again. After a few short hours, the cave had begun to smell of horse manure, despite their best efforts.

  “C’mon, Dinner,” Bethany said as she tugged on the lead to the little donkey. She had quickly learned that the obstinate beast was always a little extra mulish at the beginning of the day’s journey.

  “Are you really going to keep calling that thing ‘Dinner’?” the knight asked, the playful gleam back in his green eyes.

  “What’s wrong with it?”

  “Are you growing fond of it?”

  “Oh… no. Of course not,” she sighed, mounting the donkey’s boney back with regret.

  “I’m having trouble believing you,” he said with a smirk as he led them out of the narrow ravine.

  “That’s your problem. Not mine,” she grumbled in mock frustration.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Bethany saw a smile shift his scar. They lapsed into comfortable silence. Bethany’s thoughts meandered from one topic to another until finally resting back on her companion. She remembered how terrified she had been of him when they had first escaped Wolfric’s grasp. Only a greater fear of Wolfric and Féderic—she forced herself to think his name—had allowed her to leave the castle with the same knight who had once frightened her witless.

  They had come a long way since those first frozen days. Bethany thought back, trying to remember how long they had been on the road. A month and a half? No, that couldn’t be right. Had it really been that long? And they were only halfway to Dothan. Bethany cringed. It wasn’t that she wished to be away from the knight. She just wanted to be home, safe.

  But we have a long way to go, she told herself firmly. It won’t do to focus on the finish line. Just take one step at a time.

  And one of those steps was to cross the fast approaching Central Wastelands. Her memory of crossing them on her southward journey was of blackness, heat, and the smell of human waste. What would it be like to cross them while able to see her surroundings?

  “Erin?”

  “Mmm?”

  “How are we going to cross the wastelands?”

  He turned back to look at her, a frown pulling his brows down. “We have to barter our way with the Zemê.”

  “Barter? With what?”

  Bethany glanced around at their two animals. The burlap sacks hanging from Éimhin’s rump were empty. She didn’t even have a saddle or backpad for Dinner. He couldn’t mean to sell Éimhin, and Dinner wouldn’t produce nearly enough to pay for passage with the Zemê.

  “Whatever skills we have.”

  “Skills?”


  “I have an idea. You just have to follow my lead… and not argue with me.”

  “Right,” Bethany sighed, drawing out the word in her disbelief.

  The next day they found the allusive Zemê village. As a nomad nation, their villages were never in the same place. The Zemê and the Lurran were the only two lesser cultures left unaffected by the war raging between Wolfric and Bethany’s homeland. They were both so small that, neither kingdom felt it necessary to “conquer” them, though the Zemê did pay taxes to Wolfric. The Zemê provided a useful service that would be obliterated by a king forcing their lifestyle to change.

  Bethany felt her jaw drop as they crested a small hill and looked down on the sprawling village. It was made entirely of tents. From where they stood, Bethany spotted one group erecting a tent while another group tore one down. At the center of the village was a tiny oasis. Surrounding the oasis grew the strangest trees Bethany had ever seen. They were extremely tall, bending this way and that, but with only a small patch of green on the very top. The green was not made of leaves, in the strictest sense. From their distance, Bethany couldn’t figure out what grew on them.

  The water of the oasis barely spanned a few yards. Bethany saw two women drawing water at one end, while a few women cleaned clothing at the other end. Near the oasis was a man-made trough continually refilled by two small lads. Bethany spotted a man leading the strangest looking animal she had ever seen. She wanted to compare it to something, but finally admitted it didn’t look like any other animal. It stood on four extremely long, knobby-kneed legs, with a long neck and a bizarre face. The funniest part of the animal was the large hump on its back. Bethany spotted another man riding one of the oddities.

  “What are those?” she asked, pointing toward the one being ridden.

  “Camel.”

  “How strange.”

  “Everything about the Zemê is going to seem strange to you. Try not to stare. You may offend them.”

  “Noted.”

  They led their animals down the slope and into the tent village. Bethany tried not to stare, but failed. Everywhere she looked she saw signs of their nomadic lifestyle. They passed one woman milking a boney goat, another sewing hides together, and another grinding herbs in a shallow rock. As they walked through the village, the locals stared at them briefly before returning to their tasks. Bethany spotted men and boys herding small flocks of goats and sheep. Other men were training with bows and spears.